


Mad Monster Party

by sanguisuga



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Greg Being Oblivious, M/M, Mycroft Being Considerate and Caring, Novelty Music, do not copy to another site, halloween party, really that's it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Mycroft plans a Halloween surprise for Greg, and winds up surprising himself...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Vulpesmellifera for putting this fun project together! This is a WiP, please read and comment and kick my muse in the arse! 
> 
> For a taste of what Greg is listening to, please click here!  
[Hallowe'en Playlist](https://my.pcloud.com/publink/show?code=kZSgj8kZp7xt4k8Sr9yBqUdD6B2AYLGuSuyX)
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies  
~xoxo~

“Greg, what on earth is this nonsense?”

Greg looked up from where he was arranging items on his new bookshelves, biting his lip as Mycroft brandished several garishly-coloured CD cases in his direction. He shrugged idly. “Silly Halloween songs from the 50s and what not - y’know, ‘Monster Mash’ and the like.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows did the asking for him, but of course he still had to vocalise his befuddlement. “But _ why_?”

Greg shrugged it off with an easy smile. “Why not? It’s just a bit of fun, and it makes me - I dunno, nostalgic or summat.”

“Nostalgic for an era that was dead long before you were even born, and for revelry that occurred half a world away, at that. You are so...” Mycroft tilted his head as he pursed his lips. _ ”Odd._” 

“Oi!” Greg snatched one of the discs from his hands and slipped it into his small hi-fi set, queueing up a particular song. “Don’t you stand there looking all prim and perfect as if you don’t have a rather gallows sense of humour, you great tart. This’ll get a laugh out of you, I just know it.”

He stood there with his arms crossed firmly over his chest with his eyes narrowed as Mycroft sighed and rolled his heavenward. He politely inclined his head and listened to the beginning of the song, his nose wrinkling slightly. Although there was a hint of amusement in his face, Mycroft felt certain that he would be able to hold himself together. Until Greg started to sing along, of course, putting on a rather ridiculous falsetto as the chorus began.

_ ‘Igor, Igor, funny little man, standing there a-grinning with a shovel in your hand. Igor, Igor, what’s your plan?’ _

_ ‘I’m going out tonight and dig a rock-n-roll band.’ _

Mycroft’s robust snort of laughter took the both of them rather by surprise, and they quickly devolved into a bout of fitful giggles, each of them instinctively reaching out to hold the other up. 

Greg’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at his partner, giving his nose a gentle tweak. “Told ya.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, his belly swooping with sheer pleasure. “I concede that it was moderately humorous, although...”

“Yeah, yeah. All this moving has you a bit knackered and your defences were weakened against the onslaught, I know.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but he voiced no dissent, as his partner had sussed him out quite handily. He leant his cheek into Greg’s hand as his face softened, squeezing gently at his hips as he held him firm. “I’ll take care of the rest of this. Why don’t you go wash up and get dinner started, hm?”

Mycroft blinked. “And by ‘get dinner started’, I assume you mean ‘pick up the nearest menu and order takeaway’, yes?”

Greg grinned. “Oh, but you are a clever lad. Order extra, will you?”

“Extra what, exactly?”

Greg stared incredulously. “Uh, extra _ everything _ \- I’m starving!”

Mycroft heaved out a sigh as he pulled Greg’s face down, planting a soft kiss to a somewhat sweaty forehead and getting a playful tap on the bum as his just reward. He slipped out of the room to the sound of his lover’s laughter, grinning to himself as the volume on the boisterous music was boosted slightly. 

_ ‘I’m a wolfman, I’m a wolfman, baby... And if you see me on the prowl, you better watch it when you hear me growl.’ _

Mycroft had to stop and brace himself against the wall as a startling if ridiculous snarl echoed down the corridor, stifling his laughter when Greg howled merrily along with the song. He shook his head as he continued on his way, a rather fanciful idea suddenly forming in his brain. No, no, that was just silly, and it was doubtful that he’d get everyone to agree, however...

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up as another improbable noise drifted down. Yes, it was silly, but his lover was a rather silly man, and Mycroft knew that he would undoubtedly appreciate it. Mycroft’s calculating expression shifted into something a little more primal as he imagined just how that appreciation might be expressed. Grinning smugly, he detoured into the kitchen and started rifling through the menus stacked up by the phone, taking note of the date on the nearby calendar. September thirtieth. That would give him an entire month to plan and to execute said plan. Perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I'll be able to break this out into little fun-sized chunks. Just like trick-or-treat!
> 
> Please do comment, let me know what you think!
> 
> Kisses!  
~xoxo~

Greg looked askance at the entrance to the hotel that they had pulled up in front of, pursing his lips as Mycroft adjusted his shirt cuffs. “Are you sure about this, love?”

“Darling, there’s really no need for concern. It’s just a small work affair.”

Greg huffed. “Right. Which is why you’re in a tux and all.” He plucked at the hem of his suit jacket. It was his very best, but still... “I look like a slob next to you. And I’ll feel like a right tit as soon as I walk in there, I just know it.”

Mycroft reached out to take Greg’s hand, bringing it up to his lips. “The tuxedo is just an odd quirk - a throwback to the days of formal dining dress. Since you’re a guest, it isn’t required of you.” His stomach flipped unhappily at the woebegone look on his lover’s face. “Greg, please - I would never intentionally embarrass you.” Mycroft widened his eyes innocently. “Don’t you trust me?”

Greg’s shoulders dropped as he groaned aloud. “You utter shit.” He smirked as Mycroft’s grey eyes twinkled at him merrily. “You know very well that I trust you with my life. I suppose I might as well trust you with my dignity, too.” 

“I’m truly honoured.”

Greg rolled his eyes as he opened his door, stepping out onto the pavement and waiting for Mycroft to join him. He frowned slightly as Mycroft’s driver, George, stepped around to open his employer’s door. Greg tilted his head from side to side as the arms of George’s suit jacket rode up, exposing a good three inches or so of meaty forearm. His trousers were equally as short, and Greg had to stifle a hearty snicker as the rather large man jiggled his legs in subconscious irritation. 

“What’s this, then? Hit a growth spurt? Took some kind of super-serum and you’re starting to Hulk out?”

George’s mouth gaped for a moment, his eyes darting to his employer’s face and away again. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh - no, no. Just grabbed from the back of the wardrobe - you know how it goes.”

Greg snorted. “Yeah, no. Not since I was fifteen, mate.” He gestured expansively as Mycroft drifted over to his side, subsiding slightly as his arm was taken in a proprietary grip. “Love, would you just look at this travesty that’s been carting our arses around.”

Mycroft stifled his grin as George looked at him, his expression somewhat pleading. “I quite agree, my dear. George, what on earth were you thinking when you walked out the door this morning? I must insist that you go change at once.”

George sighed with exasperation. “Right you are, Mr. Holmes.” He stomped off back to the driver’s seat as the couple turned aside, opening the door and making like he was getting back in as Greg threw a mildly curious look over his shoulder. When they were safely inside, George grabbed his small duffel from the floor of the passenger seat, counting off a couple of minutes before following them stealthily. 

Greg hummed quietly as he let Mycroft lead him past the front desk and toward a side corridor. “That’s really not like George, you know. He’s almost as image-conscious as you are, love.”

Mycroft tutted. “You say that as though it’s a bad thing, Greg. Besides taking a great deal of pride in my personal appearance, in my line of work, one must often ‘dress for success’, as it were. Naturally, that tendency must extend to the people I choose to surround myself with.”

“Right. Which is why it was so strange.” Mycroft’s hand tightened on Greg’s arm as he hesitated, one foot raised as if to turn back. “Do you think he’s okay? He’s not - like - recently been hit on the head or anything like that?”

It took all of Mycroft’s considerable will to swallow down the laughter that was bubbling up in his chest, his amusement tempered by the light of genuine concern in his lover’s eyes. “George is absolutely fine, my dear. If you are still worried by the end of the evening, rest assured that he and I will have a chat. However, I feel as though your concerns will be laid to rest in just a few moments.”

Greg narrowed his eyes as Mycroft tugged him toward a set of nondescript doors, his level of suspicion rising. He had known that something wasn’t quite right as soon as he had seen the tux, but it had been easy enough to ignore his instincts in favour of watching his lover don each exquisitely bespoke layer of clothing. And of course he had gotten quite lost in imagining them coming off again. But this... 

“What have you done?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reveal!
> 
> Please do comment - the muse lives for your words!
> 
> ~xoxo~

In lieu of responding, Mycroft released him and grasped both handles of the doors, throwing them open wide and taking a couple of steps in. He turned a shy if pleased smile on his lover as Greg gaped in disbelief.

Greg had stopped dead in the doorway, his head spinning slightly as he tried to take it all in. The room was draped in black and orange garland, festooned with paper cutouts of grinning jack-o-lanterns and hissing black cats. Witches and little rubber bats dangled over a banquet table groaning under the weight of numerous bowls of brightly-coloured candy and trays of candied and caramel apples. There was a cauldron on one end with mist flowing over the sides, lending to the atmosphere and also serving up some kind of green punch that a hunchback was eyeing rather dubiously.

Said deformed figure looked up and grinned at him, and Greg suddenly recognised John Watson underneath the prosthetics and makeup. So the tall figure nearby wearing a shabby lab coat and sporting even wilder hair than usual must be Sherlock. The petite figure that the Mad Scientist was chatting with could only be Molly, only he’d never seen her in Victorian dress before. She turned and waved cheerily, and Greg did a double-take as her left side came into view, a grotesque mockery of her normally lovely face. Oh, of course - she must be portraying both Jekyll and Hyde in one clever get-up.

Greg’s eyes skimmed around the moderately sized ballroom, taking note of his Sergeant looking rather elegant as the Bride standing underneath a positively enormous spider web. She was politely engrossed in a story being told by the Invisible Man, the rather rotund figure underneath the bandages and dressing gown clearly that of Mike Stamford. Mrs. Hudson joined John at the punch bowl, but Greg couldn’t immediately suss out who she was supposed to be, as she was simply dressed in some kind of traditional Eastern European garb. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun and a rather impressive mole had been affixed to her chin - a witch, perhaps?

Turning back to his lover, Greg bit his lip as he took note of the satin opera cape that had been draped over his shoulders, with Vampira assisting Mycroft with getting an elaborate medallion settled appropriately over his chest. Mycroft grinned through a set of garishly fake plastic fangs, hooking his fingers into claws and advancing on him as his personal assistant stepped away, rolling her eyes to conceal her own amusement.

Putting on a thick Hungarian accent, Mycroft leant in close, his breath brushing over Greg’s ear and making gooseflesh pop out all over his body. “I vant to suck your...” Greg broke out into a faint sweat as his lover hesitated, drawing out the moment for as long as he could, running the tip of his nose along his cheek. “Mm - blood?”

Greg growled and giggled at the same moment, his head spinning slightly. “Oh, I’ll give you something to suck, you degenerate.” He plucked the bit of plastic from out of Mycroft’s mouth, laying a kiss on him that led to a wolf-whistle or two from the room in general and a groan of disgust from one Mad Scientist in particular. “You did all of this just for me?”

Mycroft beamed, his cheeks gone a rather non-vampiric shade of pink. “I only wish to repay some of the happiness you’ve given me, my dear. This was absolutely the least that I could do.”

Greg searched his face with his eyes, as if memorising every single line and ginger spot. “You’re going to spoil me, you giant marshmallow.” 

Mycroft blinked and shrugged. “Problem?”

Greg just shook his head and stepped back, looking him up and down and perhaps leering just a bit. “Right. So now I’m really underdressed.” 

Vampira held up a small bag from behind her employer, waggling it and gesturing grandly toward a side door. “Come with me,” she intoned in a much deeper register than her usual voice. She looked Mycroft up and down, her expression somewhat calculating. “Mr. Holmes still needs to put on some finishing touches himself, I believe.”

Greg pressed a swift kiss to Mycroft’s cheek before allowing Anthea to lead him away, feeling excitement starting to bubble in his belly. He wondered what outfit his lover had chosen for him, as it seemed rather obvious that Mycroft had assigned appropriate roles to all of the party guests. The door opened as they approached, and Greg once again embarrassed himself with a volley of high-pitched giggles.

George looked at him from underneath an impressively flat head, his eyes twinkling merrily even as he steeled his expression. He lifted a hand to scratch idly at a bolt protruding from his neck, revealing cleverly-applied stitches that encircled his wrists. He shied away as Vampira swatted at his hand, letting out an aggrieved grunt. 

“Give it time to set, monster!”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications and miscellany from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. My activity there has slowed considerably since the Great Purge, but I also set up another tumblr just for notifications and other writerly stuff at 'sanguisugaao3.tumblr.com'.
> 
> I seem to be mostly active on twitter now, although the system confuses me and I really don't post much. But still, if you'd like to follow, I'm @sanguisugaao3 there!
> 
> (I'm also over on Pillowfort.io if anyone out there is giving them a shot - as 'sanguisuga'. Same handle on Dreamwidth, but I must confess that I don't do much on either site.)


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